第 16 页

"Hello, Peeves," said Harry cautiously.

Unlike the ghosts around them, Peeves the Poltergeist was the very reverse

of pale and transparent. He was wearing a bright orange party hat, a

revolving bow tie, and a broad grin on his wide, wicked face.

"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in

fungus.

"No thanks," said Hermione.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing.

"Rude you was about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed,

"OY! MYRTLE!"

"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Hermione

whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her - er, hello, Myrtle."

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry

had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly spectacles.

"What?" she said sulkily.

"How are you, Myrtle?" said Hermione in a falsely bright voice. "It's nice to

112

see you out of the toilet."

.134

Myrtle sniffed.

"Miss Granger was just talking about you -" said Peeves slyly in Myrtle's

ear.

"Just saying - saying - how nice you look tonight," said Hermione, glaring

at Peeves.

Myrtle eyed Hermione suspiciously.

"You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling rapidly in her

small, see-through eyes.

"No - honestly - didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said

Hermione, nudging Harry and Ron painfully in the ribs.

"Oh, yeah -"

"She did -"

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while

Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what

people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable,

moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed in her ear.

Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon.

Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts, yelling, "Pimply!

Pimply!"

"Oh, dear," said Hermione sadly.

Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd.

.135

"Enjoying yourselves?"

"Oh, yes," they lied.

"Not a bad turnout," said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. "The Wailing

Widow came all the way up from Kent. . . . It's nearly time for my speech,

I'd better go and warn the orchestra. . . ."

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and

everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a

hunting horn sounded.

"Oh, here we go," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.

Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a

headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry started to clap, too,

but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick's face.

The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing

and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his

bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn.

113

The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the

crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick,

squashing his head back onto his neck.

"Nick!" he roared. "How are you? Head still hanging in there?"

He gave a hearty guffaw and clapped Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.

"Welcome, Patrick," said Nick stiffly.

"Live 'uns!" said Sir Patrick, spotting Harry, Ron, and Hermione and giving

a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd

howled with laughter).

.136

"Very amusing," said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.

"Don't mind Nick!" shouted Sir Patrick's head from the floor. "Still upset we

won't let him join the Hunt! But I mean to say - look at the fellow -"

"I think," said Harry hurriedly, at a meaningful look from Nick, "Nick's very

- frightening and - er -"

"Ha!" yelled Sir Patrick's head. "Bet he asked you to say that!"

"If I could have everyone's attention, it's time for my speech!" said Nearly

Headless Nick loudly, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy

blue spotlight.

"My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow . . ."

But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt

had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to

watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave

up as Sir Patrick's head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

Harry was very cold by now, not to mention hungry.

"I can't stand much more of this," Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the

orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts swept back onto the dance

floor.

"Let's go," Harry agreed.

They backed toward the door, nodding and beaming at anyone who looked

at them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the passageway full of

black candles.

"Pudding might not be finished yet," said Ron hopefully, leading the way

toward the steps to the entrance hall.

.137

And then Harry heard it.

". . . rip . . . tear . . . kill . . ."

It was the same voice, the same cold, murderous voice he had heard in

Lockhart's office.

He stumbled to a halt, clutching at the stone wall, listening with all his

114

might, looking around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway.

"Harry, what're you -?"

"It's that voice again - shut up a minute -"

". . . soo hungry . . . for so long . . ."

"Listen!" said Harry urgently, and Ron and Hermione froze, watching him.

". . . kill . . . time to kill . . ."

The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away

moving upward. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared

at the dark ceiling; how could it be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to

whom stone ceilings didn't matter?

"This way," he shouted, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance

hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, the babble of talk from the

Halloween feast was echoing out of the Great Hall. Harry sprinted up the

marble staircase to the first floor, Ron and Hermione clattering behind him.

"Harry, what're we -"

"SHH!"

.138

Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter

still, he heard the voice: ". . . I smell blood. . . . I SMELL BLOOD!"

His stomach lurched

"It's going to kill someone!" he shouted, and ignoring Ron's and Hermione's

bewildered faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to

listen over his own pounding footsteps

Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione

panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last,

deserted passage.

"Harry, what was that all about?" said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. "I

couldn't hear anything. . . ."

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.

"Look!"

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly,

squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the

wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming

torches. the chamber of secrets has been opened. enemies of the heir,

beware.

"What's that thing - hanging underneath?" said Ron, a slight quiver in his

voice.

As they edged nearer, Harry almost slipped - there was a large puddle of

water on the floor; Ron and Hermione grabbed him, and they inched toward

the message, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it. All three of them

realized what it was at once, and leapt backward with a splash..Mrs. Norris,

115

the caretaker's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch

bracket. She was stiff as a board, her eyes wide and staring.

For a few seconds, they didn't move. Then Ron said, "Let's get out of here."

"Shouldn't we try and help -" Harry began awkwardly.

"Trust me," said Ron. "We don't want to be found here."

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that

the feast had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood

came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy

talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the

passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted

the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the

corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see

the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold eyes

alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the

hanging, immobile cat.

C H A P T X IR N I N E

THE WRTITING

ON THE WALL

What's going on here? What's going on?" Attracted no doubt by

Malfoy's shout, Argus Filch came shouldering his way through the

crowd. Then he saw Mrs. Norris and fell back, clutching his face in

horror.

"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked.

And his popping eyes fell on Harry.

"You!"he screeched. "You! You've murdered my cat! You've

killed her! I'll kill you! I'll -"

"Argus!"

Dumbledore had arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other

116

teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Ron, and Hermione

and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

"Come with me, Argus," he said to Filch. "You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr.

Weasley, Miss Granger."

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly.

*140*

"My office is nearest, Headmaster - just upstairs - please feel free -"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore.

The silent crowd parted to let them pass. Lockhart, looking excited and

important, hurried after Dumbledore; so did Professors McGonagall

and Snape.

As they entered Lockhart's darkened office there was a flurry of

movement across the walls; Harry saw several of the Lockharts in the

pictures dodging out of sight, their hair in rollers. The real Lockhart lit

the candles on his desk and stood back. Dumbledore lay Mrs. Norris

on the polished surface and began to examine her. Harry, Ron, and

Hermione exchanged tense looks and sank into chairs outside the pool

of candlelight, watching.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely an inch from

Mrs. Norris's fur. He was looking at her closely through his half-moon

spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking. Professor

McGonagall was bent almost as close, her eyes narrowed. Snape

loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar

expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile. And

Lockhart was hovering around all of them, making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her - probably the Transmogrifian

Torture - I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I

know the very countercurse that would have saved her . .....

Lockhart's comments were punctuated by Filch's dry, racking sobs.

He was slumped in a chair by the desk, unable to look at Mrs. Norris,

117

his face in his hands. Much as he detested Filch, Harry

*141*

couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, though not nearly as sorry as

he felt for himself If Dumbledore believed Filch, he would be expelled

for sure.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and

tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand but nothing happened: She

continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed.

". . . I remember something very similar happening in Ouagadogou,"

said Lockhart, "a series of attacks, the full story's in my

autobiography, I was able to provide the townsfolk with various

amulets, which cleared the matter up at once ......

The photographs of Lockhart on the walls were all nodding in

agreement as he talked. One of them had forgotten to remove his hair

net.

At last Dumbledore straightened up.

"She's not dead, Argus," he said softly.

Lockhart stopped abruptly in the middle of counting the number of

murders he had prevented.

"Not dead?" choked Filch, looking through his fingers at Mrs. Norris.

"But why's she all - all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," said Dumbledore ("Ah! I thought so!" said

Lockhart). "But how, I cannot say . . . ."

"Ask him!" shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tearstained face to

Harry.

"No second year could have done this," said Dumbledore firmly. "it

would take Dark Magic of the most advanced -"

"He did it, he did it!" Filch spat, his pouchy face purpling. "You saw

what he wrote on the wall! He found - in my office - he knows I'm a

118

I'm a -" Filch's face worked horribly. "He knows I'm a Squib!" he

finished.

"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry said loudly, uncomfortably

aware of everyone looking at him, including all the Lockharts on the

walls. "And I don't even know what a Squib is."

"Rubbish!" snarled Filch. "He saw my Kwikspell letter!"

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows, and